Camping, Winchester Style
by Llewellwyn Mephistopheles III
Summary: The boys have battled demons, shapeshifters, ghosts and angels. But none of their hunts have prepared them for the ensuing chaos as they embark on a seemingly innocuous camping trip in the Pacific Northwest.


**Prior:**

"Hey, Bobby," Dean said, sinking unceremoniously onto the couch in the elder hunter's living room. "What'cha got for us?"

"Nothing," Bobby answered.

"What?"

"You heard me. I got nothing."

"Nothing?" Sam parroted, eyebrows knitted.

"Am I speaking Japanese? I said I got nothing. Means there ain't any more to it."

"Huh." Dean stared at the wall for a moment. He glanced at Sam. "Now what?"

Sam shrugged.

"Looks like you boys got some time off," Bobby commented. "Take a vacation. Christ knows you deserve it."

"Does he?"

The three hunters turned to look at their newest addition. Cas stood in the doorway, stock still but otherwise relaxed; as relaxed as Cas could ever get, anyway.

"Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Dean. Hello, Sam. Hello, Bobby."

Pleasantries exchanged, Bobby rolled his eyes. "Get out of here, you three. I'm tired of lookin' at your ugly mugs. Get outta sight."

"What?" Dean asked stupidly.

"Go for a damn vacation," Bobby repeated. "I want some time off too. That doesn't include you two. Get going. And take him with you." He gestured to Cas.

The angel blinked. "Where are we going?"

"Out, apparently," Dean answered dryly. "Bobby wants some 'me time'."

"Why would he desire time with you?" Cas asked.

"What? Forget it. Let's go."

The three let Bobby be, piling into the Impala and driving aimlessly while they debated their next move. The only sound for a good few miles was the progression of 'Love Bites' by Def Leppard. Dean absently drummed his fingers on the wheel, singing along sporadically as he thought. Sam gazed out the window. Cas stared off into the distance, straight ahead, per usual.

"I got it!" Dean suddenly announced. "We should go camping."

"Camping?" Sam asked. "You want to go camping?" He eyed Dean as if he was ill.

"Yeah, Sam, camping. Go stay in the woods a few days, do some hunting—legit hunting—and make campfires? Sounds damn good to me."

"What?"  
>Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that 'who-are-you-and-what-have-you-done-with-my-brother' voice. It makes you sound like a whiny bitch. And I'm not a crazy. What I am is damn tired of the stuffy, claustrophobic hotel rooms. I'm sick of sneaking through every disgusting back alley, sewer and collapsing shed known to man. I'm tired of staying in the ass-end of nowhere for a week and then heading to the next shithole town to do everything over again. I'm ready for a slice of the outdoors."<p>

"Dean, when we went into the outdoors to hunt that Windigo you brought peanut-butter M&M's for supplies."

"I survived, didn't I?"

"That's not the point."

"We got some time off, man. That never happens. You telling me you want to spend it staying in cramped, shitty motel and finding excuses to go do stuff while I watch _Casa Erotica_? It's bad enough when we're working a case. We got nothing to do now."

Sam's face was a twisted expression of horror and the realization that Dean was, in fact, right. He usually put up with Dean and his porny tendencies simply because he had the distraction of a job to get him through the day. Spending a week in the motel without a hunt to work on? What cruel world would do such a thing? Compared with spending a week in the outdoors, where at least he could go for walks and hikes and stargaze—there was no contest.

"Alright," he conceded. "I'll go."

"Hell yeah!" Dean crowed. "Cas, you in?"

"What is camping?"

"Lots of people do it," Sam explained. "They take tents or RV's out into the less populated areas of the country and relax. It's fun."

"It is the human custom of reconnecting with the nature you have abused and spurned in favor of technology and busy lifestyles?"

Dean smirked.

"Um, yeah," Sam said, at a loss.

"Look, Cas," Dean cut in. "The point is that it's relaxing and fun. I say we go find ourselves a slice of the northwest coast, kick back and have a cold one. You in?"

The angel was unsure what half of Dean's words meant, namely what a 'cold one' was, but he was used to not understanding the elder Winchester. "I shall accompany you," he announced.

Two days later, the Winchesters and Castiel had arrived at their destination. A small an anonymous campground on the Washington coast, it was cheap, near deserted and just what they were looking for. Dean slid out of the car, a grin on his face. It felt good to be somewhere other than a dirty motel parking lot, a dingy diner or chasing some baddy through the darkness. He could get used to this. He glanced at Sam, pleased to see his brother looked happy too.

"The northwest always feels so familiar," Sam commented.

"It does?"

"I don't know. I just feel like we spend a lot of time in this area."

Dean shrugged, pulling his duffel and their newly acquired tent from the trunk. "All I know is that I'm damn happy to be here now."

Sam nodded. "Are you going to go pay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't have too much fun with those instructions there."

Sam glared at him over the instructions for the tent. Dean ignored him, grinning as he left their campsite to go pay the national park fee. As Dean filled out the pay stub, Cas appeared beside him.

"Dean."

"Right here, Cas."

"Yes. What are you wearing?"

Dean looked up at Cas and then down at himself. Jeans, t-shirt, jacket—hit outfit was his usual. "What?"

"What are you wearing?"

"Seriously? Jeans, a t-shirt and a jacket."

"No. This pattern," he gestured to Dean's jacket. "It is unfamiliar."

"It's just camo."

"Camo?"

"Yeah. It's short for camouflage. It's for blending with your surroundings."

"You are expecting attack?"

"No, not really. But we're in the woods. I can't wear camo?"

"Obviously, you can," Cas pointed out. "You are wearing it now."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"Does that make me your commanding officer?"

"No. Forget it."

**Day 1:**

Their first day as official campers found the trio venturing off into the woods for a 'good, old-fashioned hike', as Dean put it. The forest was quiet and peaceful. Infinitely preferable to the usual chaos of their daily lives, even Sam was enjoying himself. He had to admit it was nice to relax and take a walk through the woods because they wanted to. Cas followed along behind the brothers, quietly enjoying their surroundings. It wasn't often that the Winchesters found themselves with spare time. It was even rarer that Castiel accompanied them on their vacations. He found he liked the human notion of camping. It was nice to wander through his Father's creation and simply appreciate it for its aesthetic beauty.

At some point in their hike, Dean turned around and noticed Cas was no longer following them. "Cas?"

No answer.

"Cas!"

"Dean, Sam…" The AWOL angel reappeared, emerging from a thick bunch of shrubbery. The skin of his hands and arms was puffy and red. He scratched at it compulsively. "My vessel is reacting adversely to this abdominal plant."

Sam peered at the plants Cas gestured to, recognizing them quickly. "Cas, that's poison ivy…"

Being angelic, it didn't take Castiel long to recover from his run in with the poison ivy. The plant was attractive, hence his initial interest in it, but he had learned his lesson. Poison ivy was not suitable. No matter. He would simply find other plants.

During their hike earlier in the day, Cas had spent a good amount of time contemplating Dean's camouflage jacket. He watched the hunter as he walked, deciding that if they should genuinely come under attack and camouflaging was necessary for survival, Dean's jacket was insufficient. It provided minimal cover, and only to the man's torso. The rest of Dean would be exposed and vulnerable to attack. Sam wore no camouflage at all. Both brothers could be easily spotted and taken out if malicious parties should wish it. Their size and bulk ensured that. It would take considerable skill to hide such large humans. Out of genuine concern, Cas took it upon himself to properly camouflage the brothers.

However, concerned as he was, Castiel knew his methods of camouflage would be considered outlandish by the brothers. They erroneously supposed that a mere jacket of inadequate camouflage was enough to protect them. Cas knew they would never willingly agree to his proposed camouflage. No, he would have to wait. Patiently, he did so. He waited for the Winchesters to go to sleep before making his move. When he was done, the brothers would be invisible. He would make sure of it.

**Day 2:**

Dean awoke and experienced a moment of genuine peace. But the moment was short lived. The minute he moved, he knew something was wrong. He frowned and felt his skin pull in weird, stiff ways. He felt something on his cheek crack. Becoming worried, Dean reached up and felt his face. His skin was rough, but not stubble rough. There was something smeared on his face. A gamut of possibilities (several of them sexual) ran through his mind, but Dean soon banished them all when he broke off a chunk and realized it was… dried mud?

What the hell?

He sat up and found himself covered in twigs, leaves, mud and other plants. The flora was layered over his sleeping bag, stuffed in it, in his hair and taped to his shirt and pants. Every exposed bit of his skin was covered in dried mud.

Seriously, what the hell?

He staggered from the tent, scrubbing the mud off his arms and wincing as it pulled at the small hairs on his skin. Outside he found Sam washing mud from himself with a jug of water, a halo of twigs and leaves littering the ground beneath him.

"You too?" Dean demanded. "What the hell is going on here?"

"You talk to him," Sam grumbled. "I still don't get it."

"Talk to who?"

"Cas."

"Cas did this. Cas!"

The angel appeared from the surrounding trees, an errant twig lodged in his unruly hair. "Dean," he said pleasantly. "You are awake."

"Damn right I'm awake. What the hell is this?" He gestured to himself angrily.

"I am helping you with your camel."

"My what?"

"Your camel," Cas answered solemnly. "You said it was to aid with blending with one's surroundings, but a simple jacket is obviously ineffective. You are sure to blend now."

"See? Did you get any of that?" Sam asked.

Dean ran a hand down his face, grimacing as more mud flaked off. "He means camo. It's camo, Cas. Not camel."

"Oh." Cas considered a minute. "My opinion holds. Your camo was insufficient. I have aided you."

"I still feel like I'm missing something," Sam said, shaking his head.

"Shut up and give me the water."

"Just remember, you're the one that invited _that_ camping."

The brothers watched as Cas had an in depth conversation with a leaf.

"Shut up, Sam."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

**Day 3:**

The third day of their camping trip found the Winchesters deforested and cooking breakfast over a campfire. Sam had been elected head chef, being the most domestic out of all of them according to Dean. The elder Winchester was busy splitting wood for said fire, already having sent Cas off in search of kindling.

A rustling in the bushes behind Dean nearly had him reaching for his gun, still stowed safely in his waistband. Not about to be taken out by some northwest serial killer, Dean was armed near constantly, R and R be damned. But he forced himself to relax as the forest spit out the familiar form of Cas. But the angel wasn't alone.

Dean watched in amazement as Cas hauled a particularly pissed-off looking badger out of the underbrush. The badger wasn't so much following Cas as being dragged. A blue strip of cloth, which Dean soon recognized to be Cas' tie, was knotted around the badger's neck. The struggling animal was chewing at it with all the ferocity of a rabid junkyard dog. It snarled and spit foamy lumps, prompting Dean to heft the splitting maul should the angry badger decide his face looked tastier than Cas' tie. The angel spied Dean and hurried over. Dean backed away.

"Cas. Why the hell are you dragging that thing around like a stuffed animal?"

"I couldn't bring Mr. Fluffykins camping with us," Cas explained. "Sam said he would run off. This is Gregor. He will be my companion until I am reunited with Mr. Fluffykins."

"Cas…" Dean watched the badger warily as it let out a particularly guttural snarl and made a lunge for his boot. "That thing looks royally pissed. Got put it back before it decides you're the blue plate special."

"Dean," Sam said, wandering over. "We need more firewood—What the hell is that!" Sam stared at the badger in disbelief, a girly scream tearing its way from his throat when the tempestuous badger hissed at him.

"This is Gregor," Cas answered simply.

"What?"

Cas opened his mouth to explain, but Dean cut him off. "You can't keep that thing, Cas. It's probably got rabies or something…" He glanced at Sam for confirmation, who nodded while slowly inching his way behind Dean as the badger continued to spit and hiss in a futile attempt to win its freedom.

Cas' expression darkened as if a veil had been dropped. "You're jealous."

"What?" Dean spluttered.

"You're jealous of what Gregor and I have."

"Cas. Seriously? It's a damn badger. You only found it, what, ten minute ago?"

The angel sighed warily, a look of tortured longing on his face as he looked upon Gregor. "They were bound to find out sooner or later," he whispered to the badger.

"Find out what?"

"Gregor and I have been seeing one another clandestinely for roughly two days."

"You what?"

"I don't expect you to understand," Cas lamented. "Ours is a platonic and pure love, a rich friendship for both parties." He reached out to Gregor, who growled at the angel's encroaching hand and retreated a step.

Dean tightened his grip on the ax, fully prepared to carve the badger off Cas if he had to. Cas interpreted Gregor's anger as the sting of betrayal, not the unfulfilled want for freedom and the manic snarling of a mind deluded by rabies. He cast Gregor an apologetic look. "I am sorry, Gregor. I didn't want to keep you a secret, but I knew they would try to separate us."

"Cas, it's a goddamn badger," Dean sighed. "For Christ's sake, let it go before it chews your arm off."

Castiel glared at Dean. "First you try to separate me from my dear friend, then you take my father's name in vain?"

"Damn it, Cas. We're camping! This isn't what we're supposed to be doing. We're supposed to be cooking outside and yelling at Sam for burning the eggs, hiking and sitting around a campfire singing stupid songs cause we're too drunk to do anything else. We're not supposed to be arguing with you about keeping some rabid freaking badger you dragged from the woods and claimed as your best friend!"

Castiel sighed, looking brokenly between Dean and Gregor. As he deliberated, the plucky badger finally chewed his way through Cas' tie. With a final parting growl, it disappeared into the underbrush.

"Gregor!" Cas cried. "No…" The angel fell to his knees, fingering the ruined tie dejectedly. "He was always so willful. He lived life his own way."

"Sorry Cas, but that was definitely the rabies talking."

"Dean," Sam chastised. He shot a glare at his brother and went to squat beside Cas. "Maybe it was just his time to go."

"Perhaps," Cas sniffed.

Dean heaved a weary sigh, unable to believe the curveballs his life kept throwing him. "I need a drink," he announced. "No way I'm drunk enough to be dealing with this."

"Gregor never drank…" Cas said petulantly.

Dean rolled his eyes as he made his way back to their camp. What was wrong with a freaking dog?

**Day 4:**

Dean awoke to a hand fervently shaking his shoulder. His hunter instilled paranoia kicked in and immediately, he bolted upright. Awake and alert, he glanced about him, assessing the situation and fully prepared to protect Sammy and himself should something attack. Moments passed and Dean gradually realized it wasn't some sort of supernatural ambush. It was just Sam. Sam knelt beside him, hand still on his shoulder and a look of worry plastered across his face. His obvious distress did nothing to lessen the adrenaline in Dean's system.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

"Dean… I…"

"Spit it out. Are you hurt? What's wrong?" He began checking his brother over for signs of blood. He came up empty. "Sam?"

Wordlessly, Sam pointed to the crown of his head. Dean glanced at his baby brother's scalp and abruptly noticed the moose antlers he wore.

"What the hell are those?"

"Antlers."

"I can see that, genius. What the hell are they doing on your head in the middle of the night?" Dean paused. "Wait, don't answer that. I draw the line at bestiality."

"What? No. Dean, just listen. I can't get them off."

"What?"

"You heard me. I. Can't. Get. Them. Off."

"What?"

Sam huffed exasperatedly, grabbing the base of the moose antlers and giving them a tug. "Would you listen to me? I can't get the antlers off!"

Dean stared at his brother, at a loss for words.

"Say something, Dean. I am freaking out here."

"Uh… How did they get there?"

"How should I know? I woke up and they were just there!"

"Okay, uh…" Dean ran a hand down his face, trying to think of something to do. What does one do when one awakens in the middle of the night to find moose antlers affixed to one's brother's head? What exactly _is_ the proper course of action?

Dean had no idea. So he improvised.

Reaching up, he grabbed hold of the antlers and pulled. Hard. Sam squawked in distress and slapped Dean's hands away.

"What the hell was that? I told you, they won't come off!"

Dean shrugged. "What do you want me to do, Sam?"

"Get them off!"

"I just tried and you bit my head off!"

"Try some other way, you jerk!"

"Shut it, bitch. You want my help or not?"

Sam took a breath. "Just, please Dean. Please get the antlers off my head."

"Alright, Sammy. Calm down. We'll get them off." Dean paused a moment, an idea striking him. He couldn't believe he didn't think of it sooner. "Where's Cas?"

Sam paused. "I don't know. You think he can help?"

"He's our best chance out here. Or I can go grab the ax and we can hack those babies off."

"That's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

Sam frowned, refusing to appreciate Dean's humor. "Can we go find Cas now, please?"

"Alright, alright. Hold your… antlers."

"Seriously?"

Dean grinned and tugged the nearest pair of pants on. He followed Sam into the early morning light. Out in the open, with more light to see by, Dean could barely contain his laughter. At the risk of being punched in the face, he did. But God, was it hilarious. The moose antlers were huge, dwarfing Sam's head and making the rest of his body look comparatively small. Dean never thought he would see the day.

The antlers poked out of Sam's shaggy mop of brown hair, covered in their own sort of fuzz of the same color. Dean tugged Sam's head down and explored the roots of the antlers, seeing that they were indeed attached to Sam.

"What the hell?" Dean wondered.

"I don't know."  
>"Seriously. What the hell?"<p>

"You think I know? I don't!"

Dean thought for a moment. "I don't know, man. Moose antlers? Not a bad look for you."

"Dean, come on."

"Whatever. Cas? You out here?" No answer reached the Winchesters. Dean frowned. "Huh."  
>"Huh? What do you mean 'huh'? Cas is missing and I have freaking antlers on my head and all you've got to say is 'huh'?"<p>

"Calm down, call of the wild."

"Dean, I…" Sam went quiet mid sentence, a weird look crossing his face.

Immediately, Dean knew something was wrong. "Sam?"  
>Sam didn't answer, his eyes fixed on an indeterminate patch of grass just to the left of his feet. Dean watched his brother with wary eyes, trying to provoke a response from him. Slowly, he noticed his brother was changing. Sam's sideburns, bushy and overgrown already, began to expand. They grew rampantly, covering his cheeks, his jaw and eventually his neck in thick brown… fur? Dean poked it experimentally. It felt distinctly fur-like. He took a step back as Sam fell to his knees. The dark brown fur poked out of his shirt sleeves and covered his hands. His fists began to darken, compacting into hooves. A moose-stache-goatee thing sprouted from his chin and the antlers seemed to get bigger, if that was even possible.<p>

Sam was a moose, sort of. He knelt before Dean, a horrid amalgamation of man and moose that was recognizable as neither. Dean recognized only his brother's hazel eyes, stricken with fear as they were.

"Dean?" moose-Sam asked.

Dean's eyebrows climbed into his hairline. "Sam?"

"What's happening to me?"

"Dude…"

A rustling in the bushes to their left had both Winchesters turning to face the forest. The leaves rustled. Dean grabbed the nearest weapon—a spatula lying by the fire. At Sam's incredulous look (a weird expression on a moose) Dean glared at him.

"What? Better than you can do, hoof-boy."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

The bushes rustled some more and suddenly a black, furry ball shot out of them. It shot from the foliage as if it had been fired from a cannon. The black ball of fury barreled straight into Dean. Sam cried out in alarm, but it came out as more of a moose-like bray. Dean would have laughed if he wasn't preoccupied with trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Dean! I missed you," the furry mass said.

Dean peered at it, perched as it was on his chest. It looked like a rabbit. Black, fuzzy rabbit ears poked out of a mop of messy, dark hair. Whiskers jetted out from furry cheekbones and velveteen paws caressed his face. But it was the big blue eyes he recognized most.

"Cas?"

The bunny nuzzled his nose. "Come on, Dean," he husked. "Let's fuck like rabbits!"

Dean bolted upright, breath coming in harsh gasps. He glanced about himself warily, finding himself not sandwiched beneath a horny rabbit-Cas, but in his tent.

What the fuck?

The door unzipped and Sam poked his shaggy head in. For a split second, Dean expected antlers, fur and hooves. He was beyond grateful he didn't see them.

"Hey," Sam said. "You okay? You look like you saw a ghost."

Dean couldn't bring himself to laugh. What a dream. "I, uh, I'm good. What's up?"

"Uh, we're leaving soon. You ready to head back?"

"Oh yeah."

Camping? Worst idea _ever_.


End file.
